


Toeing the Line

by awkward_mushroom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (well he is but only for a bit I swear), Adam Milligan is Not Forgotten, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Case Fic, Castiel is So Done (Supernatural), Fix-It, Gen, Grandpa Samuel doesn't get resurrected for no reason, Heaven, Hurt Dean Winchester, Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV Sam Winchester, Post-Season/Series 05, Pre-Season/Series 06, Soulless Sam Winchester, There is a plot I swear, all canon after season 5 is thrown out the windoe, au: dean doesn't beat the shit out of sam after he asks for help, like a lot, not destiel and im not sorry, we just gotta get through the angst first, with the winchesters bullshit, yeah im still salty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26854693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkward_mushroom/pseuds/awkward_mushroom
Summary: After waking up in that field, it didn’t take Sam very long to realise there was something wrong with him.So he goes to Dean, he goes to the thing he knows is always right. But Dean looks so content with Lisa and Ben, with his new family, and Sam doesn’t really need him anyway.But this time around, maybe Castiel pays slightly more attention to the Sam Winchester he lifted from perdition. Maybe he notices something that tells him this Sam Winchester isn’t right. Then maybe he tells Dean.OR: a fix-it fic for the year in between s5 and s6, in which Cas doesn't lose all his character development, Dean finds out about his brother about a year earlier than he was supposed to, and Soulless Sam just wants to hunt dammit.
Relationships: Bobby Singer & Sam Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester (minor)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24





	1. Now

**Author's Note:**

> hi there!
> 
> so this wasn't originally going to be canon divergent, but then I realised how much of that s5 s6 gap pissed me off, so it became a fix it. 
> 
> also I was very uncomfortable with how many soulless sam fics contain wincest or rape, so I wrote one that doesn't contain any sexual content whatsoever (im not sorry)
> 
> enjoy!!

The first thing Sam noticed was the absence of pain. He stared at the back of his eyelids feeling the cool, rough grass against his cheek, his back, his arms. And then he blinked his eyes open and stared up into the sky.

Just for a second, he allowed himself to be swallowed by that never-ending abyss of black, pin pricks of stars barely visible through the cloud cover. Relishing in the feeling of grass beneath his body, an open sky above him, darkness all around. This one moment of _peace_ , however long it may last.

But as minutes passed and nothing happened, Sam’s brain began to come back online.

Where was he? Lucifer may be able to manipulate his appearance in the cage, but he had never _changed_ the cage before. And if he could, why would he make it look like a field in the middle of nowhere? Why would he make it _peaceful_? Lucifer seemed too full of raw anger at Sam for being trapped, again, to start the psychological torture just yet.

So he probably wasn’t in the cage. He was technically already dead, so he couldn’t be in Heaven.

Which meant there was only one real conclusion left. He was _out_. 

How was this even possible? When he jumped in, that was it. Him, Lucifer, Adam and Michael for all eternity. Two lives to save almost seven billion. The ultimate sacrifice.

But if he was out, was the cage open again? Were Michael and Lucifer free? Was Adam? Were they going to have to deal with another Apocalypse?

But Sam couldn’t do anything about that, at least not while lying in some random field, with absolutely nothing except the clothes on his back. No phone, no rings, no idea where he was. For all he knew, he wasn’t even in America anymore.

It took Sam longer than he would like to admit to drag himself to sitting, look around and get his bearings, but he blamed on the fact he was in literal Hell not even ten minutes ago. He could spare a few minutes to adjust.

The gravestones around him, the rusted arch at the top of the hill, the tire tracks on the ground, were all sickeningly familiar. He was in Stull cemetery. Of course, where else?

The next thing he did was pray to Cas. Maybe the angel could actually explain to Sam what was going on here, and if they were going to have to save the world from Michael and Lucifer _again_.

‘Castiel, it’s Sam. I don’t know how long I’ve been gone for, or how this is even possible, but if I’m back that means Michael and Lucifer might be out as well. Adam too. So if you could come down, that would be really great.’

No response. His words seemed to be swallowed by the still night air and the silent graves surrounding him the second they left his lips. Sam couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed. When Dean came out of Hell Cas found him almost instantly, but Sam crawls out of the _Cage_ in the exact spot where he left and Cas doesn’t notice? He tried again, slightly louder this time, as if they would make a difference.

‘Come on Cas, please. We might be looking at Apocalypse 2.0 here, and that doesn’t warrant a visit?’

A few more minutes passed. Sam was getting pissed off now.‘Cas! Get your ass down here, what the hell is going on? How am I even back?’

Sam’s voice from his last prayer echoed throughout the graveyard, and he got the distinct feeling he was being left on read.

And then he remembered. Remembered screaming under his own skin, power thrumming through his bones as something _else_ inhabited his flesh. Remembered the feeling of sheer cold energy concentrating in his fingertips for a sudden snap of power. Remembered yelling inside his own skull, Lucifer laughing at his efforts to resist as his friend was blown apart into tiny bits of flesh and muscle and bone.

Remembered the cold hard truth of _I did this, this is my fault._ Remembered the look on Dean’s face as Lucifer turned Sam’s body towards him, smirking at the shock and grief and anger. 

Remembered holding an archangel at bay in his own mind, like trying to contain a nuclear explosion with a cardboard box, looking at the broken and bruised face of his brother, sprawled by the car that had saved the world. Saying those meaningless words to him.

_It’s ok, Dean. It’s gonna be ok._

Even though he had just killed Cas and Bobby and he was about to kill himself as well. Even though the plan had gone to absolute shit and now there was no one left. Even though he was going to leave Dean _alone_ , no friend, no father, no brother. Even though nothing was going to be ok for Sam, ever again.

Cas was gone, _dead_. So was Bobby, neck broken like twisting a stem off an apple. Both killed with a surge of power and a heady rush of grace. 

A human and an angel.

A father and a friend.

But Sam didn’t feel guilty. He didn’t feel the bone-deep _ache_ of grief. He didn’t get the all too familiar sink in his stomach like he’d been punched. His brain didn’t white out from shock. The immediate sense of denial and anger didn’t come. He didn’t feel horrified or disgusted or self-loathing. 

Not like he had after Jess.

He didn’t feel anything at all.

The thought of Michael and Lucifer potentially preparing for Death Match Take 2 should have sent him spinning into anxiety and fear, especially now he knew _exactly_ what those archangels were capable of, but it didn’t. 

Maybe he was in shock. Maybe he needed some time to readjust to being out. Not in hell, not in the cage, but _here_. With Dean. 

_Dean._

He needed to see Dean. See if he followed through on his promise to go to Lisa and Ben. To get out of hunting, live the apple pie life he’s always wanted.

Also Dean was his _brother._ But more than that, Dean _raised_ him. He was his mother, his father, his everything. The chance to see Dean again should make him _happy_. It should be enough to get him standing and moving immediately, without hesitation. 

But he thought of Bobby’s house, of all the resources that were sitting, unused for however long Sam had been in the Cage for. The lore books, the cursed objects, the bottles and jars of obscure ingredients only acquired through decades long connections to the Hunter community. The warding protecting the house from anything and everything. The panic room.

It would be better just to go there, see what was still standing. See what he could use. Take some of the books, hit the road. Keep moving.

 _No_. Dean first. Dean always came first. No matter what. 

So he rose to his feet and stumbled away from the cemetery, through the still open rusted gates, passed the crooked NO TRESPASSING sign, chipped words barely visible in the all-consuming darkness. The road was deserted, and there was no sound of any cars nearby.

He sighed, this was going to be a very long walk. 

Where did Lisa and Ben live? He sorted passed burning memories of hell, memories of the coppery but so shamefully _satisfying_ taste of demon blood, the thrill of pulling people out of that warehouse, away from the infected. Through memories of the surprising grief and guilt he felt at Gabriels’ sacrifice, the all consuming fear of chasing Dean chase Michael. Chasing Dean all the way to Lisa’s house.

In Cicero. That was where she lived. So it was on the way to Bobby’s anyway.

Sam resolutely did not think about how looking back on all those memories, where he should feel fear or disgust or pride, he now felt nothing at all.

Get to Dean. Dean will know what to do. Seeing Dean will make him _feel_ something.

After a while of walking up the road, he saw a girl traipsing in the opposite direction on the other side. That was odd. The only thing that way was the graveyard which had saved the world, and not much else. He could stop, check on her. See what she’s running to, or from. See if she’s safe, if she has somewhere to go. He _has_ stopped, before, but that was how he met Meg and all the issues which came with that.

Sam didn’t stop. 

He also didn’t think about how he’s not _worried_ for this kid, she can’t be more than fifteen, walking alone on a road in the middle of the night.

Because it was shock. He just got back from Lucifer’s cage in _Hell_ , of course he’s not going to be the same as when he left. But it was just shock, that was all. It will pass.

Just go see Dean. Dean will know what to do.

Eventually Sam saw the cold fluorescent lights of a gas station in the distance. He didn’t have any money, but at least he could do was ask the cashier what the date was. Maybe he could steal some water or _something._

But as he approached, Sam saw something even better. There was woman, maybe mid to late 40s who had just finished filling up her car, walking into the store to pay for gas. And better still, the car looked old too, presumably a family car. Maybe from her mother. Or father.

It wasn’t even locked, and it didn’t take very long at all to get up and running. The woman came sprinting out of the store when she heard her car start, but Sam was already back on the road. He watched in the side mirror as she waved her arms, flipped him off, and screamed something along the lines of _you asshole I’m calling the cops!_ Good luck with that. It was dark, and security cameras were always shit at gas stations. He should know.

He flicked on the radio and absentmindedly twisted the dials to get to a station that wasn’t static or some pop song who’s lyrics only consisted of about four words repeated over and over again. Eventually he got to a channel which seemed vaguely news related, and listened for a bit.

Well, it didn’t _sound_ like the world was ending. So maybe Michael and Lucifer were still there, in the Cage. Maybe, _miraculously_ , something good had happened that didn’t have any horrible consequences. They could have this _one good thing_ , for once. Surely.

Not liking any of the songs on the other stations, Sam let the noise of two guys debating over a football game result wash over him as he drove the car down the road, the sun rising behind him casting long shadows and washing everything in gold. 

Sam popped open the glove compartment out of curiosity, and found some cash, presumably for emergencies, and a folded up photo. It was of a girl, maybe around seven, and a man he guessed was her father standing next to this car, both beaming proudly. The girl had the same coloured hair as the woman who had gone into the gas station, and the date scrawled on the back of photo meant the ages matched up too. She was older than Sam had originally guessed. The car looked new in the photo too. So he was right, it was a family car. 

Still, Sam needed it more. Going to find his (presumably) grief-stricken brother after an unknown amount of time in literal Hell with two archangels and his younger half-brother definitely beat a gas run in the middle of the night. 

Sam drove for a long time, long enough that the cars old engine started to rattle and make other slightly distressed noises at being used for so long. He should pull over, give the engine a break. It was a shitty car to steal anyway, these older cars tend to get noticed, and the woman looked attached enough to it that she would try and look for it. 

The sun lit everything feebly through the thick cloud cover, reducing the world to flat, lifeless colours. Green of the trees, black of the road, grey of the sky. Sam was going to need to stop soon anyway, he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since he downed two-demons-worth of blood before jumping into the pit.

And who knew how long ago that was. It didn’t feel very long at all, but time runs faster in Hell, according to Dean anyway, and its kind of hard trying to keep track of the days when your intestines are being ripped out through your throat.

The engine’s rattling became louder, and Sam figured that if he drove any longer smoke would probably start coming out the bonnet. He let the car roll off the road and into the grass, and searched the vehicle top to bottom for anything actually _useful_. The car was meticulously clean, and there was absolutely nothing of use.

He left the car in a ditch, and started walking again. Thankfully he was near a town this time, so there were cars going past frequently. Unsurprisingly however, no cars stopped to pick up the 6 foot 4 man, stumbling down the side of the rod with dirt all over his clothes and a chillingly blank look in his eye. 

After some time Sam came across a cheap bakery and supermarket in a tiny town he couldn’t be bothered to check the name of. He bought himself a basic sandwich, water, and some other basic supplies to keep him going, in case Dean hadn’t stayed with Lisa and he had to chase Dean across the country. Again.

He was in and out in as little time as possible, but not fast enough to look suspicious. He would have asked what the date was, but that didn’t exactly fit with the low profile he was trying to establish. He kept some of the money just in case, but spent the majority.

He could get new clothes after he saw Dean.

Finally, _finally,_ after Sam had walked through the town and out the other side, a trucker pulled over and wound down his window.

‘Where you headed?’ yelled the driver. He had greying hair and a slight Australian accent, and absolutely monstrous eyebrows. They looked like someone had bought two cheap, stick on moustaches from the 2-dollar store, painted them and stuck them right on his face. Of course, it was entirely possible that this guy was a demon, determined to get Lucifer’s true vessel for whatever reason, but Sam doubted it. He been out of the cage for barely even one day, and news may travel fast in the hunting/demon community, but not _that_ fast.

Besides, it’s not like Sam hadn’t faced a demon before.

‘Cicero, Indiana!’ Sam said back, walking towards the truck. The guy thought for a second, and nodded.

‘Yeah I can get you pretty close, but I can’t get you all the way.’ He leaned over and opened the passengers seat door, and Sam thanked him as he climbed in.

And now, the small talk. Truckers loved someone to talk to, but unfortunately they were the only ones who pulled over for people like Sam. Most of them seem content just to have someone to talk _at_ , but this guy looked like he was expecting Sam to actually contribute to the conversation.

‘What’s your name kid?’ Sam wasn’t even going to touch that kid nickname. He was 27 years old, and had just saved the world from the impending apocalypse. But sure yeah, Random Trucker #3, you can call me _kid_.

‘Its Sam.’ 

An awkward pause. The guy was clearly expecting Sam to spill all the events that led him to be covered in dirt on the side of the road, maybe throw in a few Childhood Trauma stories for good measure.

Nice try, Moustaches for Eyebrows, but Sam had stuff to think about. Such as what pulled him out of hell.

It couldn’t be Cas, he was dead, and no other angel actually _liked_ him or Dean enough to do them a favour. Besides, Lucifer’s cage was built to keep an _archangel_ in, so no ordinary angel had the power to bust into Hell, enter the cage without actually breaking it open, be fast enough to get him out but keep two archangels inside, and then slam it shut again.

And then there was Adam. If Sam was back, did that mean somehow Adam was out too? He had just been an unwilling participant in all of this, going from not knowing anything about hunting, to being killed by ghouls, resurrected by angels, and finally Michael wearing him to the prom.

But Sam had woken up alone in that cemetery. If Adam was out too, then he probably would have been there with him. So whatever pulled him out must have made a conscious decision to get him, but not Adam. So it must be something which actually _liked_ Sam, and that narrowed down the already-very-short list by a lot.

It could be Gabriel, but he was dead too, and the last time Sam had heard about Raphael was that Dean and Cas had left him in a ring of holy fire, so he doubted it was him either.

So, demons. No ordinary demon would be able to open the cage either, but there could be more powerful demons capable. They never really did find out the full capabilities of Yellow Eyes’ power, and it would be stupid to think he was the only demon like him.

But why would a demon rescue Lucifers’ True Vessel from the cage, but not Lucifer himself? So probably not a demon either.

There wasn’t much else that could. Well, there was someone. But Cas had spent so much of the year leading up to the apocalypse looking for Him and had found jack shit. Plus, why would God care? He hadn’t given a damn about the apocalypse when it was happening, why would He come back to tidy up the debris?

And why would He only bring back Sam? He was pretty sure God was on board with the whole Saving Innocent People thing, and Sam was very, _very_ far from innocent. Adam on the other hand, he had been in med school for crying out loud, he was definitely the innocent one in this scenario.

Seemingly content that Sam was not a conversationalist the trucker, who had definitely told Sam his name when he wasn’t paying any attention, was content to instead spill _his_ life story all over Sam. Given the guy was saving him a week’s walk at least, and he could throw him out on the road the second he wanted, Sam should at least nod his head every now and then. 

He thought of Dean, out of hunting. Living the apple pie life. Well, if he followed through on his promise anyway. Dean actually staying in the same place for longer than a few weeks for the first time since he was four years old. Dean cooking breakfast, sending Ben off to school with his packed lunch. Kissing Lisa as he left for work. What would Dean even _do_ for work? Car mechanic. Maybe an exterminator. 

Sam remembered seeing what Dean had with Lisa, even just in those few days they stayed for a case a couple years ago, and being undeniably _jealous_. Jealous that Dean actually had something he could go back to, after hunting. He had thought of what he could have had with Jess, if she hadn’t burnt on the ceiling exactly like Mary. A kid, a _family_. A white picket fence, a soccer mum van, the whole nine.

But now, after the apocalypse, after the cage, he knew he would just be _bored_. Restless. Constantly needing to move, to save, to hunt. But Dean, Dean could do it. He always wanted out of hunting, even if he never really admitted it. After Sam had left for Stanford, he had only stayed out of some obligation towards Dad, always the good son. 

And then Dad went missing. And then Sam had his visions. And then he was going to hell. And then the seals were being broken. And then Lucifer was out, and they had the actual, biblical apocalypse to deal with.

Things kept on dragging him back in, but now. Now Dean was free from obligations, he could actually have something for _himself._

The trucker had finally taken the hint and shut up for a few seconds, letting the radio fill the silence as Sam watched the trees and buildings blur past. An hour passed. Then another. Sam let his thoughts go around and around in circles. Cycling through every single powerful being him and Dean had ever encountered or even heard about, guessing if they would have the power and the inclination to pull something like this off. Nothing came to mind. 

But _something_ pulled him out, and Sam needed to know if that something was going to come back and bite them in the ass later.

‘Your thinking pretty hard kid. Go on, spill your story, maybe I could help.’ And the trucker had broken his two hour streak of silence. Sam was impressed it had taken him this long, to be perfectly honest. Again with the kid. Does this mean Sam could call him old man? But again, this guy could kick him to curb whenever he wanted, so better at least _try_ and be civil.

‘Yeah well, I just came out of hell, so I’ve got a lot on my mind at the moment.’ Ok, he tried, he failed. But come _on_. He could not be putting out stronger don’t-talk-me vibes if he wanted to. Sam saw Bald Patch jerk back a little and _clock_ his mouth closed in the reflection of the window, and he smirked a little to himself.

But still, he didn’t kick him out, and they drove for a little while longer to the sound of the radio before he pulled over again, telling him that this was as far as he could get him. His tone was noticeably colder since when he first opened the door to Sam a few hours ago. 

Still, he driven Sam practically to Lisa’s doorstep, so he lobbed a _thanks man_ back towards the driver as he jumped out the truck. Hands in his pockets, he wandered down the streets, seeing if he saw anything he recognised, trying to remember Lisa’s address.

Looking at all those monotonous houses, carbon copies of each other standing side by side, Sam couldn’t quite believe that up until very recently, he had wanted this life. He had wanted the good old Dolly Parton 9 to 5 job, the kids, the family dog. The loving partner.

But now, after the past five years constantly on the road, constantly hunting, he wouldn’t even know where to _start_. Sam felt like he would go insane from the routine, the predictability of it all. Staying in the same place for longer than a month, a _dream_ until a few months ago, now felt like the worst nightmare.

Having to keep a straight face through all the petty problems all the neighbours would complain about at barbecues and get-togethers. Because how could being fired from work or your kid getting a detention possibly compare to shapeshifters and werewolves and wendigos and demons and angels?

Wandering passed all those unchanging houses, Sam didn’t feel any kind of urgency. Dean would either be at Lisa’s or he wouldn’t, and that wasn’t going to change if he got there in the next ten minutes or the next hour. Besides, what exactly was his plan?

He was going to show up at Lisa’s, fresh out of hell, see Dean and then what? Buy a house, move in next door? Breeze through, say hi and bye to Dean and keep hunting, alone? No, that wouldn’t happen. Because Dean’s always been protective, but now he would never let Sam out of his sight. He would force himself to go with Sam, even though what he really wanted was to stay with Lisa and Ben. Stay with a life that lent itself to dying at eighty rather than thirty five, stay with a family.

And that kind of inattentiveness, that _longing_ , could get you killed on a hunt.

Sam didn’t think about how he didn’t even feel happy at the prospect of seeing Dean again. 

_Just go see Dean, Dean will know what to do, Dean will fix this._

But more and more it was feeling like Dean was the problem.

The sun was setting, casting purples and reds above the houses, and Sam frowned. He’d been up for at least 18 hours now, plus he was pretty sure he hadn’t slept at all in hell. He should at least be emotionally exhausted from the week? Two weeks? Of continuous torture from the devil himself, and then jumping straight back into real life. But Sam didn’t feel tired at all, not physically or mentally.

It was just shock from hell.

But that excuse was wearing very thin, very fast, and Sam hadn’t gotten any better at lying to himself. Something was wrong.

Eventually, Sam saw a street name which sparked a memory, and he followed the familiar signs until he reached Lisa’s street. And he didn’t even have to wonder which house was hers, he could see them.

The streetlight above him flickered slightly as he watched Dean, Lisa and Ben have dinner together. _Dean_. He looked happy. Happier than Sam had seen him in a long time, maybe since before he made his deal to go to Hell. Which he wouldn’t have done if Sam hadn’t turned his back on an enemy like an idiot.

But more than happy, he looked like he _belonged_. He belonged in a home, with a kid and a family. Serving actual home cooked food instead of microwaved motel food. Sitting at an actual table and talking about Ben’s day at school rather than sitting on lumpy motel beds swapping theories about the latest monster of the week.

Every time, it was Sam who pulled him back into hunting. Even after their Dad died, it was Sam who had wanted to keep going, and Dean was the one wanting to stop. Getting stabbed, sending Dean to hell. Letting Lucifer out. It may have been Dean who pulled him first back into the life, but Sam had forced him to keep going many more times since.

Dean deserved to have something for himself. 

Even though now Sam _knew_ something was wrong, because seeing Dean hadn’t magically cured him of this _apathy_ he had felt ever since Stull. He didn’t feel the almost _gravitational_ pull he always did when he saw his brother. If Sam told him he was alive, there was no good path. Either he stopped hunting, moved in next door and tried to live normally, and Dean stayed with Lisa and Ben. Or Sam dragged him away from his family and back into hunting _again._

Dean didn’t want or need that, and Sam didn’t need a brother right now. He needed answers.

So with one last look at Dean, hoping maybe _something_ will spark, he turned and walked back down the road, heading towards the place which had all the knowledge on lore, specifically the Cage, he could ever want. If he couldn’t find any answer at Bobby’s, then he would never find an answer.

As he walked away, Sam thought he heard a very quiet noise on his left, but there was nothing there. Still, he swept his eyes up and down the street, instincts sharp. It was completely silent, streetlights making their feeble attempt to pierce the darkness. He had to leave, _now._ If Dean saw him outside the window, then it was all over.

But even as he walked away, he thought back to that noise.

It had almost sounded like the flapping of angel wings.


	2. 22 Hours After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam continues his road trip, Dean drinks his troubles away and Castiel is so done with the winchesters bullshit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo exams are a thing. stick with me, but updates will be VERY inconsistent sorry!
> 
> I attempted Castiel's POV. it was very intimidating. 
> 
> canon divergence is starting to happen, and there is also some plot!

2 days.

That was how long he’d been in the cage for, Earth time. Which meant he was in the cage for 20 days, total. 

Sam was in another stolen car, this one more modern, and so less conspicuous. He had more time to consciously choose a vehicle this time, and he went with a basic white Toyota Corolla some family had a few streets down from Dean’s house.

Because now, in Sam’s mind, it was _Dean’s_ house now.

He felt a new respect for Dean for lasting as long as he did in Hell. He had said no to a chance to stop the pain for over _30 years._ He was only in the cage for 20 days and Lucifer had done things he didn’t even know were _possible_ , even in Hell itself.

Sam didn’t think he would have lasted even close to that long. Torture didn’t even really begin to cover what Lucifer had done, and Sam had been prepared to endure that for all _eternity_ , to save the world.

To stop something he hadn’t caused, not really. Both him and Dean had been manipulated, by Ruby, by the angels. Lucifer was always going to walk free, the apocalypse always going to happen, it just so happened to Sam and Dean who were stuck in the middle of it, who had to clean up the mess.

He was headed to Bobby’s now. He might stay there for a few days, read as many lore books as he could get his hands on. Maybe use some of Bobby’s hunter connections and ask around. Him and Dean weren’t the only ones aware of the apocalypse, maybe some other hunters knew something about Lucifer’s cage. Doubtful, but everyone needs a last resort.

Then he remembered Walt and Roy, and figured that maybe he should stay away from other hunters for the next few months. Coming back from Lucifer’s cage and then being offed by some pissed off hunter was _not_ how Sam wanted to go.

So Sam kept going, to Bobby’s, to a life of hunting, now alone. He used to hunt alone as a kid, but he had always had Dean or Dad harassing him to finish the case, under the guise of checking on his wellbeing. But now, he was completely and utterly alone, he couldn’t even call Dean if he needed help, because as far as Dean knew he was dead.

And it was going to stay that way. Forever.

Right at the edge of town, Sam drove past a sign pointing out a church. Sam had an interesting relationship with praying. He had first started before he left for college, and then he prayed every night until Dean went to hell. Because if God couldn’t stop someone like Dean going to hell, then what could he do?

Then Dean came back, and he had actual solid _proof_ of angels. Angels that had brought Dean back from Hell itself. Dick angels, sure, but they had rescued his brother from unimaginable torture. Well, it was unimaginable to him back then, but now Sam knew intimately what torture really looked like in Hell.

So he had started praying again. Not every night, and not nearly as often as he should, but whenever he had a few spare moments in the midst of the apocalypse he go on his knees beside a shitty motel bed, and took a second to thank Him, for rescuing Dean. He hadn’t had it in him to beg for forgiveness just yet, he was still convinced that what he was doing was _right._

And then he set Lucifer free, and even the _thought_ of praying to God sent his jackhammering heart into his throat and his knees weak.

But now, he felt none of that. If God, or something else extremely powerful had pulled him out of the Cage, he should probably thank them before they came back and smote him for being ungrateful. He was far enough from Dean’s house to stop few minutes, and besides Dean was never the praying type. The only times Sam had ever seen his brother in a church was when it was necessary for a hunt.

So he followed the sign to a moderately sized brick building, and parked the car on the side of the road, turned the engine off, and went into the church.

All sounds from outside, the birds chirping as dawn approached, the wind in the trees, immediately stopped the moment Sam entered the cool, dark building. They were replaced by other noises, like the sound of shoes on wood, the quiet crying of an older man to his left and the creak of wood as people adjusted themselves on the pews. Echoes of whispered prayers swirled around him and up into the tall ceiling.

Sam slid himself into a pew right near the back. He used to feel _something_ when he was in a church, like a wave of calmness and clarity which enveloped him. It used to feel sacred, special. He used to feel closer to God, to the angels, when he was here. He would feel less unclean, less tainted. When he was hunting, it was his escape, when he needed a break from Dad and Dean, their expectations, their anger at him for not being like them.

It was his sanctuary after he left, when he felt so _so_ alone in Stanford. It was how he had met Zack, and then his sister Rebecca. Zack had introduced him to Brady, then Brady to Jess. 

And then Brady had burnt Jess on the ceiling, but anyway.

Now it just felt like a building. Like he was sitting in a cold classroom back in school, listening to a teacher give a lecture. It didn’t feel purifying. It didn’t feel sacred.

But still, he had come here for a reason, so he bent his head over his clasped hands and began. He didn’t address it to anyone, or anything, specific. Just made it a general _thank you now please don’t kill me_ to anything that was listening.

He realised halfway through the prayer that he was broadcasting his location to every single angel with its ears on, and most of the would be very, _very_ pissed they didn’t get their planet sized wrestling match. 

Shit.

He didn’t even bother wrapping it up, just immediately bolted for to the car, ignoring the weird looks he got from other people in the church as he ran out.

He started the engine with too steady fingers and floored it, getting as far away from Dean and that church as possible. He had wasted too much time anyway. Bobby had been dead for a few days by now, and news would be quickly spreading. Which meant other hunters would probably have the same idea and be heading for Bobby’s right now.

The last thing he needs is another confrontation with hunters. 

Even though he was probably the closest thing Bobby’s ever had to a son, apart from Dean of course. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew Bobby preferred Dean, especially after the several detoxes he had gone through in that panic room. 

But Dean was out now, so that left Sam the rightful inheritor of all of the Bobby’s stuff. Ok, maybe not _rightful inheritor_ , but close enough.

He properly out of Cicero by now, flat grassland and farms now stretching out as far as the eye could see, broken up by random trees and dark brown fences. The sun was fully up now as well and the sky was blue and endless, completely different to the day before, but still plain and infinite. Ever since he came back, it was like the world had been filled with flat colours with no depth, no texture. Today it was yellow of the grass, black of the road, blue of the sky. 

He slowed the car slightly. Nothing draws attention like a speeding car on a road leading out of a town, and if any angels had heard his prayer they probably would have found him by now.

Which of course was when a boy around 7 or 8 years old, wearing superman pyjamas of all things, suddenly appeared right in front of the car, the flap of angel wings barely audible over the engine.

Sam slammed on the brakes. Normally he would have run the damn thing over, but Dean had told him he punched Cas once and almost broke his hand, so it would probably do more damage to the car than the angel. And Sam really needed the car. He did _not_ want to have to suffer through another trucker’s life story thank you very much.

The angel just stood in front of the car, staring at him. Waiting for him.

 _Shit._ He didn’t have an angel blade. He didn’t have the demon blade. Not even a first aid kit. This was not going to be fun.

‘Sam Winchester.’ The angel spoke softly, but his voice seemed to carry for miles. Hearing the deep, powerful voice of an angel coming out of a kid who had clearly been possessed from his bedroom was extremely weird.

‘Random Angel. Guess I shouldn't have made that prayer huh.’ Sam replied, getting out of the car but still trying to keep distance between him and the angel. The more he could procrastinate this fight happening, the better.

The angel frowned slightly, a tiny twitch of the eyebrows. It was very strange to see an angel confused about _anything_ , but especially this. Wasn't that how they found him? Unfortunately this angel was not a talker. He had hoped maybe this was one of the ones who loved the sound of their own voice, and did the whole _my name is dick-iel you stopped the apocalypse prepare to die_ speech. But no. Getting straight to dying then.

They dropped a familiar silver blade into their palm, and attacked. 

Thank _god_ they had picked a small vessel. If the angel had taken a second to strategise, maybe even picked one of the parents of this kid, Sam wouldn’t stand a _chance_. As it was even though the still unnamed angel was undeniably stronger, the height advantage Sam had made all the difference.

Sam dodged the first swipe of the blade, and winced when it _screeched_ against the car. He kicked the angel’s wrist with as much strength as he could, and the blade went skittering over the hood of the car and fell onto the road on the other side.

Distracted by the fact that Sam was actually fighting back, the angel was too slow to react as Sam grabbed the short black hair of the vessel and slammed the kids head onto the car. It was hard to hurt an angel without a blade, but you could damage the vessel enough to distract them at least.

Sam was vaguely aware of the angel slumping slightly to the road as he slid over the bonnet to grab the blade. Angels were good fighters, but their defence was so _shit_ it was actually laughable. Once he held the familiar weight of the blade in his hand, Sam knew it was all over.

They walked slowly around the car towards him. That was the other problem with angels, they were way too confident in their own abilities. Too used to winning every fight.

Sam slashed the blade towards the angel’s chest, and they jumped back, arching their body away from the weapon, arms going up in the air as they dodge their vessel’s major organs out of the way of the blade. _Too easy_. Sam wrapped his hand around the vessel’s tiny exposed wrist that was placed neatly in front of his face and jerked the angel towards him, plunging the blade into their chest.

White light rushed out of the eyes and mouth of the vessel, leaving the air tingly with grace, like an electrical charge in the air before a lightning strike. The kids dead body dropped onto the road, and Sam threw the angel blade onto the passengers seat and inspected the car. There was a deep scratch in the drivers side door, and a dent in the bonnet where Sam had hit the kids head onto the car.

Well, at least there wasn’t any blood in the dent. That would’ve been hard to explain. 

Sam was also very lucky in that the angel had attacked him on a road in the middle of nowhere. Otherwise there would probably be footage going around of him slaughtering an eight year old, and he’d already been to prison once, well twice now, and he didn’t want to do it again.

So he moved the kids body into a bushy ditch a few metres off the road, got back in the car and drove as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself. If one angel was pissed, it probably meant a lot of them would be. And demons too.

Damn it. He was going to have angels, demons _and_ hunters on his ass for months now. He just hoped Dean had his head down enough that they wouldn’t know where he was and go after him too.

Bobby’s, he could hole up at Bobby’s until this blew over. However long that took. 

It was going to take a while. Nobody was going to forget the freaking apocalypse after a few months. Maybe not ever.

Sam thought about the prospect of having demons, angels and hunters all pissed and after him for potentially _years_ , and reconsidered his decision to leave Dean out of this. If he was going to survive this, he was going to need back up.

Or maybe he didn’t. It was actually a _relief_ to fight alone for once, to not always have to be aware of whatever Dean was fighting as well. To not have to risk precious seconds to check on how Dean was going against his angel/demon/monster. It was the right decision to leave him out of this.

But those were all problems for later. He needed to get to Bobby’s, spend however long he needed there until he found an answer for what pulled him out, and then go from there.

The sun was high in the sky now. He’d been awake for about 36 hours, but he didn’t feel any exhaustion. At all. He was really starting to regret that thank you prayer, now he wanted to call whatever had pulled him up and ask them what they had done, because they had fucked _something_ up.

Because it was idiotic to think this not sleeping would be the only thing wrong with him. He couldn’t help but feel a flash of irritation. Why was it always _Sam_ who was the freak? With Yellow Eyes, the demon blood. For once, could he just be a normal hunter?

No, because he was Sam Winchester, and the he’d only ever been normal before he was six months old. But strangely enough, it didn’t really bother him anymore. He didn’t feel the sick, tainted, _dirty _feeling inside him, flowing through his veins. He didn’t feel impure, unfit to be in the presence of angels.__

__He didn’t feel the taste of his contamination in his mouth, like slick oil under his tongue. He wasn’t hyperaware of the bitter, sulphuric blood flowing through his veins with every pump of his own heart._ _

__Maybe it was because he felt his his trip to hell had just wiped his slate clean. Like he’d done his penance._ _

__He felt good. Reenergised. He had spent the past week, month, year, half a decade, feeling so _tired_. Tired of monsters, of angels, him and Dean’s so called _destiny._ All of it. But now he felt refreshed, and ready to go. Ready to do something that was in his control, something that hadn’t been planned out for him _centuries_ in advance. _ _

__He felt ready to hunt._ _

__***_ _

__Castiel watched as Sam Winchester, the Boy with the Demon Blood, the Abomination, continued to drive down the road towards Bobby Singer’s garage. He could tell him that Bobby was alive, but it would mean revealing himself to Sam, and he would find out soon enough anyway._ _

__Castiel had been alive for thousands of years. He’d watched, an idle spectator, as empires rose and fell. Just a fledgling, listening to wise words from older brothers and sisters. Then he grew up, became a faithful soldier to Heaven, to God. Then he had command of his own garrison. He had respect, undying loyalty._ _

__Then he met two brothers, and everything changed. He became an outcast, a rebel. Now he was someone to punish for the failure of the apocalypse. But he also had friends, a family. He _felt_ things now, human things. Love, hate, disgust, fear. Worry._ _

__And right now he was worried for Sam Winchester. He had done things he wouldn’t like to admit to break into Hell and retrieve him from the horrors of the cage. He had caught up to him once he had arrived in Indiana and followed, silent and invisible, as Sam wandered through the town. Searching for Lisa and Dean's house._ _

__He had watched as Sam walked away from his own brother._ _

__And Castiel had been around the Winchesters for long enough to know that meant something was wrong. Castiel had followed Dean as well, after he pulled him from perdition. He had followed him, and observed as he tried everything to get to his brother as fast as possible. He had watched, invisible, silent, as they reunited._ _

__He hadn’t noticed the demon._ _

__But had been no urgency to Sam, no deep desire to see his brother. It was almost as is he was doing it out of obligation, rather than love._ _

__Castiel kept watching. Despite what he had said to Dean, he didn’t want to return to Heaven, not really. Sam had told him to_ take care of these guys for me_, and Castiel was trying. He knew about Deans promise to Sam, to stay out of hunting, to stay with Lisa, and he knew if he arrived on Dean’s doorstep to tell him Sam was alive, he would leave without hesitation.

And that mattered to Sam, so it mattered to Castiel as well.

So he didn’t go to heaven, not yet. He would, eventually, as with all the archangels but one dead or unavailable he knew it would be chaos up there. Hundreds of soldiers with suddenly no one to lead them. Castiel may have saved the world, but he had doomed Heaven. He had chosen his side, and he would be hated for it. By choosing the Winchesters, he had condemned himself to never be forgiven.

But they were worth it. Them and the billions of human beings who they had been charged to _protect_ , to be their shepherds. Many of his brothers and sisters had forgotten that.

He had watched Sam as he drove to Bobby’s. Something was _off_ about him, ever so slightly. 

Castiel had watched as Kushiel, a short-sighted traditionalist with, as Dean would put it, a bucketload of anger issues to go, appeared in front of Sam’s car, looking for someone to punish for the failure of the apocalypse. Castiel had almost intervened. He knew that Sam and Dean, especially Sam, had always worried about the vessel, or _meat suit_ , that the angel or demon was inhabiting. 

That was, after all, what encouraged Sam to continue with his ‘extra-curricular activities’; the knowledge that he was saving the host while killing or exorcising the demon inside. 

So when Kushiel appeared, after specifically choosing a child vessel to unsettle Sam, Castiel was ready to reveal himself to save him. But Sam didn’t even hesitate. Not even when Kushiel tried to specifically elicit an emotional response as he walked, defenceless, towards Sam while he picked up the angel blade.

But Sam killed the angel, and the kid, without hesitation. That wasn’t like the Sam Winchester from a few months ago. But Castiel knew this was Sam, not Lucifer or a shapeshifter, and from afar he couldn’t see anything wrong with him. He had just survived several months with the knowledge of the impending apocalypse on his ind, and then approximately 20 days in the cage with Michael and Lucifer, withstanding unspeakable torture.

So with one last parting look to Sam Winchester, Castiel left to see the other human in his charge, to see his other friend.

Dean Winchester was in a motel. Castiel appeared outside the room in the car park, and took a second to look at the Impala. The sun gleamed off the car, but it still hadn’t been fixed. The wind screen was shattered and there was a large dent in the side from when Lucifer had thrown Dean around, before Sam had taken control.

Castiel was still in slight awe of how Sam Winchester had found the strength, had found the _love_ for his brother, to overcome an archangel in his mind. It was heard of, of course, vessels being able to overpower and expel the angel inhabiting them, but most angels thought it was a myth. Something even Castiel hadn’t even considered when he first inhabited Jimmy Novak. Although he was dead now.

Jimmy Novak had been blown apart by Lucifer’s grace, and when God brought him back, he hadn’t given Jimmy that same treatment. He would be in Heaven now, waiting for his wife and daughter.

Castiel felt unexpected grief at that, even though he never had the intention of giving Jimmy back to his family. But either way, he had pressured Jimmy into saying yes, for his daughter, and his life had been hell ever since. He was an innocent, who he had only intended to inhabit for however long the apocalypse took, and then he would leave the vessel behind to fight the war against Hell.

Of course, it hadn’t exactly turned out that way, but Castiel still cared about Jimmy, his wife Amelia, his daughter Claire. Jimmy had been his responsibility, and he had failed to protect him.

Castiel looked towards the motel. Dean had been to Lisa’s last night for dinner, he had seen that with Sam, so why wasn’t he there now? Why was he in a motel room, when Sam’s dying wish had been for him to settle down in a home, with a family?

He felt wary. Castiel had no idea what was waiting for him behind that motel door. He had lost brothers and sisters in combat, but Sam and Dean had completely redefined the concept of a _brother_ for him. Castiel had only rarely seen a bond like that between two people, and he himself had no idea what losing that felt like. He had no idea how to comfort.

But he had promised Sam he would look out for Dean and Bobby, and so he would try. He unlocked the motel door and pushed it open, Dean didn’t need him suddenly appearing behind him, not right now. He didn’t see Dean at first, but what he did see worried him.

He’d clearly stayed in the motel room for at least a night, maybe two. There was a half unpacked duffel bag of clothes on the floor, and there was a book of lore open on the table. From the doorway Castiel couldn’t read the text, but it was clear from the image the it was one of the few books Dean had on the Cage. But that wasn’t what worried him.

The bedside lamp was in pieces across the floor, glass glittering from the artificial lights. The white bed sheets were twisted and messy, pillows scattered around the room and there was an empty liquor bottle lying on the bed. The curtains were shut against the sun, leaving the whole room in darkness except for one golden sliver of of light through the gap.

He eventually saw Dean, sprawled on the floor facing away from the door, a half empty bottle of alcohol next to him.

‘I didn’t think you were gonna come back,’ Dean’s voice was slurred, he lazily lifted up the bottle and poured some more alcohol in his mouth. Despite how slurred his voice was, his hands were steady. He looked like he’d been slumped in that position for a while.

‘Thought you were gonna go be heavens’ bitch again.’ He continued. Cas felt his lips turn up slightly. In other circumstances, he may inquire as to wha resemblance he had with a female dog, but even Cas could tell that now wasn’t the time.

‘I was…wrong, to leave like that. I came to see how you were doing.’ Cas was floundering. He had no idea what to say, how to say it, if he should say anything at all. Sam would know what to do, but Sam had deliberately left Dean.

Dean spread his arms and had a cynical and twisted smile on his face. ‘Well clearly I’m doing amazing. Yeah, coping really well. All the healthy coping mechanisms, being used right now.’ His voice was mean, and he practically spat out the words. Dean wasn’t grieving, not really. He was avoiding the problem, shielding his grief in hate and anger and spite. He shouldn’t be alone. Bobby once told him self-loathing and guilt was a Winchester family trait, and Cas was beginning to see why. 

Dean shouldn’t be alone right now. What was Sam thinking, just abandoning him like that? 

‘Why aren’t you at Lisa and Ben’s house? I thought Sam-‘

‘Yeah well, turns out dumping a grieving alcoholic on a single mum and her eleven year old son only goes well in the movies.’ 

Cas walked over and took the bottle from him, instantly removing the alcoholic from inside when he touched it. Dean let out an indignant _hey!_ And made a clumsy swipe for the bottle, but it was too late. Cas had a goal now, to get Dean sober and composed enough that he could stay with Lisa and Ben long term. Sam had told Cas about them when they were trying to stop Dean from saying yes to Michael, and it seemed like they would be good for him.

_Take care of these guys, okay?_

He was trying, Sam, but they didn’t make it easy. 

‘Its two-thirty in the afternoon Dean.’ He reprimanded, slowly sitting down next to Dean, ‘Did she make you leave?’ Cas asked. He mimicked Dean’s position, leaning back on the bed and leaving about a metre of space between them.

Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, he had stopped slurring his words so much now, the need for a more serious conversation sobering him up slightly. Cas could remove the alcohol from his system, but he figured removing the alcohol from the vicinity was bad enough. He didn’t want to push it.

‘No, she didn’t. We’re just taking it slow, I guess. I went over there for dinner last night, which was fun. But she’s already got a kid to raise, she doesn’t need to deal with me too.’

‘But Sam said-‘

‘Well Sam’s not here is he?’ Dean yelled, and there was the outburst Cas had been expecting since he first saw the motel room. ‘Sam decided to throw himself in the Cage, with Lucifer, our youngest brother and Michael, and now he’s-‘ Dean’s voice broke, and he waved his arm to try and express whatever he couldn’t say. ‘Now he’s probably being _tortured,_ in Hell, and I _know_ what thats like and I barely made it out in one piece, and I wasn’t being worked over by the Devil himself.’

‘Do _not_ compare your experiences in Hell Dean.’ Cas said instantly, because he knew if he didn’t, Dean would spiral into a sea of self-pity and self-blame. He couldn’t say anything about Sam, not without lying right to Dean’s face, and Cas was sick of lies. But there was something he could say, to ease Dean’s guilt just a little.

’It is…likely that Michael will protect Adam from Lucifer’s wrath.’

Dean opened his mouth to violently object, probably incorporating some colourful language in his protests, but Cas cut him off. ‘Michael was always a good son, and a good angel. He may have wanted the apocalypse, but that was because he was loyal to God. He didn’t want to kill his brother. He said to you that he wouldn’t leave you as a “drooling mess”,’ Cas used his fingers to indicate air quotes, which caused Dean to huff a laugh, ‘after he possessed you. He values his vessels, and he values human life. He will protect Adam.’

‘But what about _Sam_ , huh?’ And Cas remembered the conversation they had in the Impala, only a few days ago, right after Sam jumped into the pit.

‘Sam…’ Cas had to respect Sam's decision to keep his resurrection from his brother, even as much as he hated it. ‘Sam saved the world.’ He said instead, which was still true.

But why wasn’t Sam _here_? Why was it Cas who was picking up the broken pieces of a grieving Dean, and not Sam who could just _be here_ and make this entire affair completely pointless? Whenever Cas thinks he understands human relationships, especially Sam and Dean’s relationship, something happens which throws his whole comprehension of them down the drain.

Castiel warred with himself. Pain and grief and anger was rolling off Dean like waves in the sea. He needed a friend, needed comfort. He needed the _truth._

But lying to himself was a new ability Cas had discovered, and over the past few days he had perfected it. He told himself that he was respecting Sam’s unspoken wish, and wouldn’t he know what was best for Dean? But Sam wasn’t here, he couldn’t see how Dean was acting. Dean needed to know his brother was alive. 

But telling Dean would mean explaining exactly how Castiel knew, which would mean explaining _everything._

Explaining how Crowley had approached him, almost instantly after Sam jumped into the pit, with a brief run down of what was happening in Heaven now that Micheal was missing and Zachariah was dead. How Raphael had taken charge and was determined to restart the apocalypse. With a proposal about how to fight Raphael. It would mean explaining that Castiel had made a deal. 

A deal that said if Crowley helped Castiel pull Sam from the Cage, then Castiel would fight Raphael and make sure he didn’t stay ruler of Heaven for very long. When Castiel asked Crowley why he cared who was in charge up in Heaven, he hadn’t got a straight answer. Which wasn’t a good sign. 

So he had agreed. Agreed to be Crowley’s little rebel angel. Agreed to stand up to Raphael, and potentially get himself _killed_ in the process. Even though Cas never wanted to be involved with Heaven again, after the disaster that was the failed Apocalypse.

The angels didn’t care about human lives, about God’s creation, they only cared about power, and mindlessly following orders. And Castiel was done with the lot of them.

Cas was too ashamed to admit he had made a deal with a demon to save Sam. Especially to Dean. And he knew if he told Dean of his deal to go up against an archangel, he would abandon Lisa and Ben and the life Sam wanted for him, and join him once again up against both Heaven and Hell. Dean who was supposed to be done with hunting, done with angels and demons and everything in between. 

But Cas missed his friend ( _missed,_ what an odd sensation), so he didn’t leave, not yet.

Cast stayed as Dean Winchester mourned his brother in a trashed motel room, with the planet-heavy knowledge that Sam was alive and well, had gone to see Dean, and ultimately decided to leave him behind. 

***

Finally, around late afternoon, Sam’s stolen car pulled into Bobby’s garage. The rest of the drive had been uneventful, no other hunters, demons, or angels had come for him. And Bobby’s looked pretty deserted. Maybe news of his death hadn’t hit the hunter community yet. After all, the only people who knew (and were still alive) were him and Dean, and Dean probably wouldn’t have told anyone.

Weirdly, Bobby’s car was parked by the house, and his dog, Rumsfeld, was still tied up outside. The dog normally wagged his tail at the sight of either Winchester, even if Dean went out of his way to avoid him. Getting torn to shreds by hellhounds is enough to give anyone a fear of dogs. 

But now he growled slightly at Sam as he got out of the car and walked towards the front door.

Dogs always were very preceptive to the supernatural. When he discovered he was psychic, when he learnt he was to be the ‘Boy King’, when he thought of the demon blood in his veins, the fact that Rumsfeld was still happy to see Sam was the only thing that convinced him he was still human. That he hadn’t become a _monster._

But now it just confirmed what Sam already knew, with a sense of bitterness, that whatever had brought Sam back from the Cage, had brought him back _wrong._

He didn’t bother knocking, who was going to answer anyway? He just opened the door, giving it a bit of _encouragement_ with his shoulder when it jammed, and barged straight into Bobby’s house. 

And was met with the cocking of a shotgun, and a barrel pointed straight in his face. And on the other end of that gun was-

‘Bobby?’ How was this possible? He _died_ , Sam had watched Lucifer kill him with his own hands, his neck twisting with a sickening crunch. Did whatever bring him back bring Bobby back too? But he was tightening his grip on that gun and definitely looked ready to shoot so Sam better do some damage control and _fast._

‘I don’t know what you are,’ Bobby ground out, voice rough with anger and disuse and was that _grief_? ‘But you better get the hell out of my house before I-‘

‘Ok woah woah woah!’ Sam yelled, hands raised in either surrender or preparation to grab the gun out of Bobby’s hands, depending on how the rest of this conversation went. He briefly remembered the last time Bobby had held a gun to him, back when he detoxing from demon blood and had escaped the panic room.

He had been able to grab the gun and knock him out then, and that was a good last resort. But first, deescalation. Sam was good at deescalation. Used to be, at least.

‘Bobby I’m not a shapeshifter, or a demon or Lucifer or _anything_ alright! You can test me! But just,’ he gestured at the gun, which was still aimed at his chest, right at his heart, ‘lower the gun maybe? I don’t want to die twice in a week.’

Bobby still looked extremely wary, and kept his eyes on Sam as he went for the silver knife and holy water on the table by the door. Bobby cut Sam’s arm with silver and threw _way_ too much holy water in his face, soaking his face, his hair, and the top of his jacket.

Sam didn’t bother saying I told you so, because he still couldn’t trust that whoever or whatever was standing in front of him was actually Bobby. So when Bobby went to hug him, Sam took a step back. ‘And what about you?’

‘What _about_ me, boy?’ He said indignantly.

‘How are you back?’ Sam asked. ‘Last I saw you, Lucifer had just snapped your neck.’

Bobby blinked at the bluntness, but answered nonetheless. ‘It was Cas, he healed me.’

Now Cas was back too? Did none of Team Free Will know how to stay dead? Now he _knew_ when he prayed in Stull cemetery he was being left on read. When Dean came out of hell he got two visits in one day, and Cas didn’t even _know_ either of them back then.

Well, it was clear who was Cas’ favourite at least.

‘And how did Cas come back?’

‘Well,’ Bobby walked over to the fridge, and offered Sam a beer with a raise of an eyebrow. Sam nodded, and they both went over to the coach, ‘Cas’ theory is the big man upstairs brought him for…whatever reason.’

Sam nodded, it _sounded_ reasonable, and they didn’t know of anything else that could not only bring back an angel, but an angel who had been blown apart by the grace of one of the archangels. But he noticed the phrasing.

‘You don’t think so.’ It was more a statement then a question

Bobby shrugged, ‘Well, its a sound theory, I don’t know of anything else that could pull that off.’ He trailed off, and Sam felt a burst of irritation shoot through him. 

‘But?’ He asked, slightly impatient.

‘ _But_ , why would God show up _now_? I mean, he’s a bit late to the party don’t you think?’ 

Sam conceded the point with a tilt of his head, but it was the only theory that made sense. It was reasonable to think that whatever brought Castiel back, also pulled Sam from the Cage. And the only conclusive answer he had was that God did it.

He told Bobby what he was thinking, and he shrugged.

‘I have no idea what pulled you out, but whatever it is, I’m damn glad.’

Sam stretched his mouth into a smile, nodded, and didn’t say anything about how he _knew_ something was wrong with him. Bobby wither wouldn’t believe him, or chalk it up to post-Cage trauma and ignore it. Or he would agree with him, lock him in the panic room and throw away the key. Or call Dean.

As if the thoughts of his brother were written all over his face, Bobby turned to look at him and said, ‘Dean. We gotta tell Dean. Haven’t checked in with him yet, but he’ll be a mess.’ He started walking towards the phone as he kept talking. ‘He followed your request, you know. Went to Lisa and Ben’s. Was a good idea, they would have been good-‘

Sam cut him off before he could dial Dean’s number. ‘I know. I saw him.’

Bobby lowered the phone. He almost asked the stupid question of _where is he then_ , but Bobby was smarter than that.

‘You didn’t tell him.’ His voice was accusing and once upon a time, when John would dump Sam and Dean at Bobby’s for convenience, that tone of voice could send a stab of shame through Sam, and he would stumbling over himself to apologise for touching that _jar again Bobby I know you said it was dangerous I just really wanted to what was in it and Dean said-_.

But not anymore, this time, Sam stood his ground.

‘He’s fine without me Bobby. Really. He’s _happy_ with Lisa and Ben, and he never wanted to hunt anyway.’

Bobby sighed his all too familiar So Sick of This Winchester Bullshit sigh, Sam had heard it a lot about his Dad, Dean and himself over the years. To be fair, Bobby put up with a _lot_ of Winchester Bullshit, but this time Sam was right.

‘Sometimes you boys can be complete _idjits_ you know that?’ Bobby yelled. ‘He’s not _happy_ , not without you! What he’s doing is making the best of a terrible situation. A situation he doesn’t need to be in! So suck it up, and _call your brother_ ’

‘No.’ He replied evenly.

Bobby looked up, as if praying for strength, and Sam knew that if he didn’t say something Bobby was going to call Dean anyway. 

‘Ok! I’ll call him,’ Bobby looked relieved, but Sam wasn’t finished. ‘ _After_ we figure out what exactly pulled me out.’ 

Bobby still looked angry, but he knew that was as much compromise as Sam was ready to give.

‘Alright fine.’ Bobby sighed and looked at the stack of books which filled the room. ‘Lets get to work.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, li have never been to ANY of the places I described, so if you know anything about them that ive got wrong please tell me!
> 
> I am also not christian, so if ive messed up in ANY way in my description of the church or what being in a church is like, (once again) please tell me!
> 
> iloveyourkuodsandcommentsmorethanlifeitselfokbye
> 
> thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, not very canon divergent yet, and I know not much happened BUT plot is coming! also this will NOT focus only on Sam, we will be visiting Dean and Cas, I just needed to deal with the whole resurrection thing first.
> 
> ALSO I do not live in America and the only research I did was look at google maps ONCE for some driving times so if ive stuffed something up , please tell me!
> 
> your comments are the most amazing thing to happen, so please give a girl a burst of serotonin in these dark times. this is my first time writing soulless sam (or anything supernatural-related) so any feedback is AWESOME!!
> 
> (plus at the risk of spoilers if anyone knows any cool urban legends or whatever for a case chapter, that would be much appreciated!!)
> 
> say hi to me on Tumblr! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vibelessblob
> 
> thank you!!


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